I awake the next morning feeling like I’ve just run a marathon, climbed a mountain, and then decided to swim across Lake Ontario. My body is sore in that delicious post-crazy-night-of-wild-sex way, and my eyelids feel as if they’re weighted down with sandbags.
When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, I’m confused. The room is nearly pitch dark; it’s still nighttime. Not taking time to contemplate what might have woken me, I turn, reaching for Hugh. I may be exhausted and my body may feel like it’s been through the wringer, but that doesn’t mean I’m too tired for—
My hand hits cool sheets and my eyes pop back open. I shove myself into a sitting position, squinting as I peer around the room.
“I’m here.” Hugh’s soft voice comes from the doorway. A sigh of relief nearly knocks the air out of me. The relief flees when I see he’s fully dressed. Faint light from the living room casts a halo around him, making me wonder for a moment if I’m dreaming.
“What are you doing?” I croak.
He enters the room and turns on my bedside lamp before sitting beside me. I fumble for his hand and he takes mine in both of his. “I need to leave in a few minutes. I didn’t want to wake you. Thought it might be easier for you not to have to watch me get ready, knowing I’m…well…”
I swallow hard. My brain is still foggy and it’s making it hard to grasp what he’s saying. “You’re leaving now?”
“Aye.” His voice is tired, sad. He frees one of his hands from mine to scrub it over his face. It makes a rasping sound that seems loud in the otherwise silent room. “There’s no easy way to do this, Ivy. No easy way to say goodbye. I warred with myself how to do it, how to make this less painful, and finally decided it would be easier not to prolong it.”
“But I wanted to wake up with you.” My voice sounds childlike and my lip is wobbling. “Wanted to make you breakfast a-and…” I trail off, snapping my mouth shut. I sound pitiful even to my own ears. I know this hurts him as much as it hurts me, and I don’t want to make him feel worse.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I shake my head quickly. The motion sends tears splashing down my face. “Don’t be. I understand. You’re right about there being no easy way to do this.” I inhale deeply, filling my lungs and trying to gather myself. I can fall apart later. “Thank you for everything. These last few weeks have been…I couldn’t have asked for…”
“Me too,” he says when I don’t continue. “Me too.” He closes the small distance between us and covers my mouth with his. I taste toothpaste mixed with salty tears and wonder if they’re only mine. “I have something for you,” he says when he pulls away. He takes a wrapped package from the nightstand and hands it to me. “I was going to write ‘From Santa’ and put it under your tree, but I thought Fiddlesticks might try to claim it for herself.”
I let out a watery laugh. He motions for me to open it, so I do. The light is faint, but I can still see it’s a copy of Anne of Green Gables. I’ve never seen this edition before; between the cover and the binding, I’m guessing it’s old.
“I thought I’d add to your collection.” He reaches out and catches a tear before it falls from my cheek onto the book. I didn’t even realize I was crying. “The perks of being friends with a bookseller. I had Piper help me search, and she thought you’d like this one best.” He flips the cover open and points to a blue sticky note inside. “It seemed blasphemous to write in such an old book, but my parents always said when you give a book as a gift, you have to inscribe it.”
I hold it closer to the lamp so I can read it. For Ivy, a true kindred spirit. You’re stronger and wiser and more beautiful than you know. Thank you for the last two months. Love, Hugh
I’m going to choke on the lump in my throat. I suck air in around it and set the book aside so I can launch myself into his arms. He catches me, holding on tight, murmuring soft words as I cry all over him. It’s like floodgates have opened and my promise not to make him feel worse has been swept away by the current. I can’t help it; the tears come and when I try to stop them they just flow harder.
He cups the back of my head with one hand and rubs my back with the other. Over my sniffles and quiet sobs, I hear him swallow hard a few times. I’m pretty sure he’s crying now too, which makes me feel even worse.
My eyes settle on the digital clock behind him and I gasp, pushing away. I’m a snotty, tear-soaked mess. This is so not the image I wanted to leave him with. “You’re going to be late.” I shove at him to get up so I can crawl out of bed. He holds me in place. “You still have to get back to your apartment and get your luggage and—”
“Ivy, it’s fine,” he says. “I have time. I need to make sure you’re okay before I go.”
I clench my jaw so tight I fear my teeth might crack. Gathering every last shred of willpower and dignity and self-preservation, I say, “I’m fine. Or at least I will be fine. I promise.”
Despite appearing uncertain, he lets me pass him this time when I move to get off the bed. He follows me out to the living room. Fiddlesticks is perched on the back of the couch, her eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. Hugh scoops her up and gives her a nuzzle, speaking to her softly. I don’t catch most of what he says, but I do hear him say, “Look after her,” and I almost lose it all over again.
“Oh!” I say, suddenly remembering the care package I made him for the flight. I hurry to the kitchen and grab the small cloth bag from where I stowed it last night. When I was running around doing my shopping yesterday, I kept seeing things he likes—mini bags of chips, ginger snaps, a crossword puzzle book—so I decided to collect them for his long trip back home.
“It’s not much,” I say, handing it over. “It’s not a proper gift, but I thought you might like some things for the plane ride.” He peers inside the bag. When he smiles and reaches inside, I know he’s spied the TARDIS keychain I found while whipping around looking for a last-minute gift for Marla. “That’s not for the plane ride obviously, just something I thought you’d like.”
“It’s perfect,” he says. “The only thing I had time to get for the flight was a book, so these things will serve me well. Thank you, Ivy.”
“Thank you for the book,” I say. “It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me.” Later, when I’m alone and not feeling like a small gust of wind could knock me over and shatter me, I might contemplate the meaning of his use of the word ‘love’ in the inscription.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says.
“Well, I mean, it’s no wool sweater, but you know.” This elicits the laugh I hoped for. “Kidding. I love it. It’ll get pride of place on my shelf, right next to my succulent. I’ll think of you whenever I look at them.”
He nods slowly. His hand reaches for mine and I’m not sure which one of us holds on tighter. My fingers will likely be bruised later, but I don’t care.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed in Scotland,” he says. “And I’ll talk to you tomorrow on Christmas day. And then…”
“And then.” I say it like it’s a complete sentence. No promises. We’re hitting pause, and whatever will be will be. I pull my hand free from his to hug him tightly. We kiss, and what starts as a quick pressing of lips turns into something that rivals our kisses from last night. He pulls away first, glancing at his watch with a pained expression. “Go,” I say, moving past him to open the door. “Have a safe journey and we’ll talk soon.”
“Soon,” he promises. And with one final lingering kiss, he’s gone.
I close and lock the door. Lean against it. Wait for the tears to fall. When they don’t, I return to my bed, crawling in and feeling an odd sense of relief when Fiddlesticks joins me. She curls up beside me and that’s when the tears come. They’re not sobs like they were before, just gentle tears that don’t seem to want to stop. I drift in and out of sleep.
I have no idea how much time passes when Celia enters the room. She makes a quiet, distressed sound in the back of her throat and climbs onto my bed. We stare at each other wordlessly and then she lies down, facing me with Fiddlesticks between us.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers.
I try to smile. I’m sure it, paired with my bed head and puffy eyes are enough to give Celia nightmares for weeks, but she’s here. She doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t look away, she doesn’t leave. It’s hard to believe it right now, but deep down, I know she’s right: it’s going to be okay.
*****
Other than that first morning, I don’t have much time to wallow.
Bridget calls just after noon and says she’s coming to get Celia, Fiddlesticks, and me in an hour and we’re going to start celebrating Christmas early and keep celebrating for the next several days. I relay this message to Celia, dubious about her reaction. She simply smiles and says she’ll go pack a bag. Cue the waterworks yet again.
Christmas is a huge affair in the Higgins household. I’ve come to look forward to it every year because I know there’ll be lots of delicious food, free-flowing alcohol, presents, and general merriment. When I met Bridget six years ago and was basically adopted by her family, I was amazed to learn what Christmas could be—decorations and lights and magic and movies and music and warmth and love. So much love.
Christmases with my parents were always a small, quiet event. We marked the passing of the day with a few gifts and a nice meal. It was nothing like what my friends said their holiday celebrations were, and certainly nothing like what I saw on TV. My final Christmas with them was the last Christmas I celebrated until I met Bridget. My aunt and uncle didn’t observe the holiday at all. It was just another day of the year for them. Since they made me get a job as soon as I legally could, I always saved a portion of my paycheck each year to buy myself something I’d been wanting, plus donate to my favorite local charities.
Because of all this, my first Christmas with the Higgins’ was almost overwhelming. Marla knew my dad was Chinese, so she had taken the time to make a few Chinese side dishes as well as the turkey and all the regular trimmings. They’d had presents for me, and even a stocking with my name embroidered on it to match theirs. I’d had to excuse myself to go cry in the bathroom because I couldn’t handle the tsunami of emotions that flooded me.
Bridget had eventually come to find me. She’d apologized profusely for making me uncomfortable, but I’d interrupted her and told her I was overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. I’d only told her the bare minimum about my aunt and uncle before that. Sitting together on the side of her bathtub, I’d explained how cold they were and how they didn’t believe in expressions of love or affection.
“It’s all just hitting me in an unexpected way,” I’d told her. “I’m realizing all the things I missed over the years. Not just Christmas, but what it was like to have a loving, supportive family.”
“Well, you’re part of our family now. An honorary Higgins,” Bridget had said. “You can count on us and know you’ll always be loved.”
That was the best gift I’d ever received. I’ve spent every Christmas since with Bridget’s family, even last year, the first Christmas after Mr. Higgins died. My aunt and uncle had moved back to China earlier in the year, and after spending a fortune to ship a few small gifts to them, my aunt had sent them back, asking why I’d wasted my money. We’ve only spoken twice since then: once when she told me I should invite Celia to live with me, and again a few weeks later to make sure I had done it. That’s it. I have no intention of initiating contact, and I doubt I’ll hear from her anytime soon. I’ll always be grateful she took me in, but she and my uncle are a part of my past now.
“You’re missing all the best Jude Law parts.”
I blink hard, coming out of what feels like a heavy brain fog. I’m sitting on Bridget’s couch, between her and Marla. Celia is lounging in an armchair off to the side. The room is dark except for the glow from the TV and the colored lights on the Christmas tree. I look at Bridget; Fiddlesticks is curled in her lap, sleeping. My best friend tilts her head and gives me a funny little smile.
“You okay? You love this movie, but you’ve been zoning out.”
A glance at the TV shows Jude Law and Cameron Diaz frolicking through the grounds of the fancy restaurant where they just ate lunch. I smile, remembering the dozens of times Bridget and I have watched The Holiday over the years. “Just thinking,” I whisper. I shift closer to her and lean my head on her shoulder. “I’m so glad I’m here.” Movement catches my eye and I follow it to Celia, who’s watching us with an expression I can’t read. “So glad we’re here,” I amend, just loud enough for her to hear.
She smiles, and we all turn our attention back to the TV.
Later, my phone beeps with a message as I’m crawling into bed beside Bridget.
Just got to my sister’s. Christmas morning festivities will commence in a few hours, and I’m off to attempt sleep until then. Will call you later today—or tomorrow for you. Thinking of you. Merry Christmas, Ivy. xxx
I fire back a quick message, telling him I’m glad he arrived safely, I’m thinking of him too, and I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I end with my own wish for a ‘Happy Christmas’ and send a string of Xs and Os.
“Hugh?” Bridget is halfway reclined with her arm stretched toward the bedside lamp. I nod and she clicks it off, plunging us into darkness. “Wanna snuggle?” she asks and I laugh. “I promise not to imagine you’re David if you don’t imagine I’m Hugh.”
“Your breasts are much bigger than Hugh’s,” I joke. I turn off my phone and set it on the nightstand, then nestle into Bridget’s side. I do and don’t want to talk about Hugh. I’m afraid it’ll open the floodgates again and I want to enjoy my holiday, not spend it weepy and wallowing.
Bridget must sense this because she’s quiet. Normally she’d ask a question or tell me she’s here if I want to talk. Instead, she whispers, “Merry Christmas, Ivy. We’re going to have a great few days.”
I sigh and curl further into the warmth of her body. Her softness and sweet floral scent are such a contrast to Hugh. Surprisingly, instead of making me miss him, it just makes me love her more. “Merry Christmas, Bridge.”